Page 16

She took two steps and stopped. Something… off. Cabbage, yes. But something beneath it. Rot. Familiar.

The daemon? Again? How could it follow so quick?

A nearby tavern door beckoned, though everything in her rebelled at entering. Still, rest was necessary. Vulnerability would kill her faster than any daemon, and Current clung to her skin like a fever.

Gas lamps sent soft light over the insides, and the hickory smoke of fire wafted through the air, mingling with ale-soaked wood. A few heads swivelled in her direction as the door swung shut. Idonea let the silence settle half a second before moving further inside. Long enough to suggest confidence. Safira would approve. Most eyes slid away afterwards.

She crossed the tavern slowly, forcing herself not to hurry. Safira had drilled that lesson into her hard enough to bruise, so Idonea let her stride loosen slightly instead. The barkeep eyed her, gauging her mask, her weapons, but his shoulders relaxed by degrees.

“You came in with the Crows?” The barkeep acknowledged her presence as she took a free stool.

“You could say that.”

He nodded.

“You want a room?” He licked his cracked lips and wiped a handkerchief across his brow.

“Will that be a problem?” She resisted the urge to cross her arms, instead leaned lightly against the bar to pretend comfort.

He blinked once. “No. Of course not. One’ll be ready shortly.”

“You have my thanks.” Idonea propped herself on a nearby barstool.

“A drink while you wait?” he asked.

“Red, please.”

He bobbed his head, wiping a glass clean with a piece of cloth Idonea dared not look too closely at. From a bottom cabinet, he grabbed a bottle and poured a glass.

The barkeep handed it over, eyes wary. “On the house.”

Idonea smiled, took a sip, and gave a nod to let him know it was acceptable. He breathed a little sigh and moved on to another customer. Idonea watched the room without looking like she was watching the room. The dice game in the corner had four players and a fifth man standing behind one of them, drinking. The fifth man hadn't put money down. The barkeep's right hand stayed under the counter while his left poured. The door behind her had no bar.

Tentatively, she tested the Current around her and the absence of daemonic residue reassured her.

At the far end of the bar, two men spoke in low, urgent voices. She caught fragments: mirror room, glass to the eyes, confession by morning. One of them crossed himself in the manner of a man who hadn't done so since childhood.

"The Templars again?" the barkeep asked, not looking at them as he wiped the counter.

"Third this month," one of the men muttered. "They took a tinker's wife. Said she'd been hiding Riven kin. They put her in the mirror room and had a name out of her before the candle burned down an inch."

The barkeep set a glass down harder than he meant to.

"Hierophant's pet Resonants. They pull answers out of you like thread," the barkeep muttered.

One of the gamblers crossed himself. Idonea said nothing. She filed it away beside the other things she was not yet ready to look at directly.

A body settled beside her, brass glinting in her periphery. A pin: skull, wrench for an eye, keyhole mouth. Another pirate.

“Heard you came in on Safira’s ship,” he rasped, stinking of smoke and something fouler. Men like him mistook silence for invitation.

She didn’t turn. “And?”

“I think you’re fine.”

Her hand fell to her dagger.

The barkeep returned. “Your room is ready.”